


Dusk

by Thornvale



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornvale/pseuds/Thornvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Following the events of Calypso's release, the seas are now in chaos. Barbossa finds his precious Black Pearl pursued by the ruthless Captain Blackbeard. Meanwhile, Elizabeth lives in England with her son, pining for the ocean. Little does she know that her former life is about to come crashing back. Barbossa/Elizabeth (Unfinished, for now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting of the Black Sun

**Author's Note:**

> A story I wrote for Adult fanfiction a long time ago. Unfinished as of now, but please enjoy. It was written before the fourth movie and is an alternate storyline following the first trilogy. It's pretty old, so I may go back and resolve some issues when I have time.
> 
> Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters are property of Walt Disney Company. This story is non-profit.

She was as beautiful as a fresh Winter morning.

It was no wonder the crew of the Black Pearl slowly ceased their work as the voice of a fallen angel gently rose from the darkness of the night. It was no wonder they tentatively scuttled to the starboard side to lean over the fine, ebony wood to look out over the black abyss, their eyes lighting up in hope. It was no wonder that, for a brief moment, they all forgot their own names, why they were there, all of their troubles. The voice was everything. The voice was the lonely pain they had each harboured for years and years.

It was the lump in your throat. It was sweeping, horrific realisations. It was the unnoticed tear when you were alone. They could relate to this tragic song, they were pirates. But who could be singing so gently to them in the middle of stormy waves? What woman, aside from Calypso herself, could become one with the sea?

A tiny island jutted out of the water. A once proud rock that had been worn down over the years by storm after storm, wave after wave, until only this insignificant, sorry mass remained. But it was singing. Somebody was lighting it up, a beacon in the dark night. A woman.

Her skin was frost. The hair that tumbled over her glowing shoulders was blacker than the Pearl's sails. Those hands - those soft, nimble hands - were combing through it slowly as the woman gazed at the boat with half-lidded eyes. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing a lady sat in the middle of the ocean, but the fact she had a fish's tail in place of legs came as no surprise to the crew. It was long, elegant, and sparkled softly as if covered in tiny emeralds. The way she idly slapped the translucent fins against the stone was an atrocity to say the least.

The men just stared in awe as she continued to sing. Their presence was not enough to end her beautiful, tormented song that could bring the stars to their knees. Some reached out dumbly into the night, longing to touch that icy flesh, that silken hair.

An intimating thumping, loud and out of rhythm with the lady's voice, vaguely disturbed the crew's loving trance. The shadowy captain of the Black Pearl, Barbossa, had heard the lady's voice whilst sat in his quarters, though refused to believe it existed until it the god-forsaken noise refused to end. He scanned the crew. His eyes, the colour of seawater, surveyed them with no emotion, until he took it upon himself to throw various men out of the way so he could see what the attraction was for himself.

Barbossa had seen his own share of other-worldy beings. He was one himself, once. Despite the beauty of the lady on the rock, she did not interest him in the slightest. These creatures had hearts blacker than his own. Her snow-white skin, tail of emeralds and heavenly voice did nothing, for Barbossa knew not to place total trust in any individual, let alone servants of the manipulative sea goddess, Calypso.

"What are yeh all lookin' at?" he bellowed, quickly spinning to face his crew. "One of ye get to the wheel before we're crashin' into these stone claws. She en't nothin' but a sea harpy. Back to work you dribblin' pack o' mutts!"

The captain blindly aimed his pistol at the rock and shot. He turned back at the lack of a scream. The lady was gone, and only a large chip in the face of the stone took her place.

"Th- that's bad luck," Ragetti nervously pointed out, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. When Barbossa slowly faced him with clear murderous intent, Pintel, Ragetti's uncle, quickly slapped his nephew about the head with a wide grin in the captain's direction.

"Sorry, cap'n, she bewitched him is all," he rasped, nodding fervently.

Barbossa rolled his eyes and looked to the stars for a moment. They were quickly becoming blotted out by stark, grey clouds.

"Mermaids be wicked creatures," he growled, waving his pistol in Ragetti's direction threateningly before doing the same to the rest of his crew. "Their sole purpose is to lure downtrodden, mangy men such as yerselves into the rocks to drown. Now block yer ears to that god-forsaken singing and get back to yer posts!" The last command was shouted so loudly the whole crew flinched backwards in shock. Or at least, that's what Barbossa thought until turning to scour the waves for the mermaid.

He met eyes that were deadened, black orbs.

She was balanced on the edge of his ship using only her clawed hands. Her hair, now soaking and swept back in a tangled black mess, revealed pointed ears and the sallow light green of her flesh. The creature's mouth slowly opened, revealing horrifically sharp, shark-like teeth crammed into her mouth in rows, though they only partially hid her long, black tongue.

"I said it was bad luck!" Ragetti said, grabbing his uncle's coat in fear.

Barbossa didn't move. He just stared at the sea-woman, his dark gaze daring her to act out her clear intentions. But the mermaid just hissed lightly and somehow reached a long, green arm out to him.

"Barbossa ..." she whispered, black eyes forming a squint as she smiled with the demeanour of a demon. Despite his resolve, the mention of his name made the captain take a curious, involuntary step forwards. A slippery hand clumsily touched his cheek and drew down his neck, his chest and eventually reached his thigh, before he grabbed her skinny wrist and forced her hand to his face again.

"Clearly ye like the feelin' of a warm-blooded mammal," he snarled. "Careful where ye put those claws or I may be makin' a profit off yer fine mermaid hand. What is it ye be wantin' from us?"

Once again, the mermaid's hand made its way to his bad leg, where it clenched firmly at the muscle. If the Pearl's crew weren't so dazed by her presence they would be nudging each other, chortling like idiotic teenage boys. They only watched, however, as confused at her actions as the captain was.

"Aside from that," Barbossa grunted, making to remove her hand. Before he could, the lady balanced on the edge of the ship on her strong stomach, placing her free hand on his other thigh. She lowered her serpentine head, smiling, light hisses and clicks emitting from that horrible mouth. As she grew level with his hips, she released a sigh that sounded so terribly human that for a split second Barbossa wasn't sure where he was - he certainly wasn't freezing on the Pearl in the middle of the ocean - though her icy touch and fangs did the opposite of seduce him.

"Amante ..." she whispered, her head tilting. "Tócame ... por favor ..."

Captain Barbossa grabbed the mermaid by the throat. She immediately released his legs and clawed at his leather-bound hands savagely, dragging her nails through flesh, but he didn't care. "In yer dreams, wench," he said loudly, giving her a violent shake. "Yeh en't gettin' anywhere and ne'r will. Yer brain rivals that of a dead fish."

Suddenly, the mermaid smiled, flashing her horrific, mottled teeth. "La oscuridad está cerca!" she hissed with the venom of a snake. Darkness is near. She raised her fingers to her lips and slowly licked his blood from them, moaning and clicking softly. This creature, this foul, mindless being, was surely a personification of Calypso's lust, though why the thing had chosen his ship to bother was a mystery.

Barbossa prepared to throw the creature back into the ocean. Before he could, however, an acrid smell met his nose. He sniffed and abruptly looked at his crew to see if they too could sense the burning sensation in their nostrils. It appeared they could. He turned back to the mermaid and eyed her suspiciously.

"What are ye doin'?" he asked her, as if she were secreting the disturbing smell. Despite her invisible pupils, the lady seemed to look at him, removing her hand from her chest to point upwards. The grey clouds had thickened considerably. In fact, they weren't clouds at all - they were far too low and had previously been shaped as if rising from the ocean. Now, the smoke surrounded them, hazing their vision and rendering even the mermaid's rock invisible. What could possibly be on fire? Had they drifted past a pillaged Navy vessel? An underwater volcano?

The stench was disgusting. The fire causing it was not a normal fire at all.

Barbossa released the mermaid's throat as a warning instinct kicked in. The Black Pearl was not alone, and she hadn't been for a while. He stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, before turning to face the port side. Indeed, a vessel was sailing right next to them. How in the name of Teague had nobody seen it? Was everybody so distracted by that damn mermaid -

And then he realised something that made even his blood suddenly turn cold in his veins.

The beast of a ship was the same size as his Pearl. Rather than the sails being ebony black, they were blood red, and the front of the ship sported a skeleton rather than an angel. Fires in huge braziers dotted around the ship were the clear cause of the acrid fog surrounding them. Various drapes and curtains were strewn across her in a slightly morose fashion, yet they made her extremely recognisable. It was a pirate vessel, of course, but not an ordinary one. This was the Queen Anne's Revenge.

This was the ship of Blackbeard. And they hadn't even seen him coming.

"S-sorry cap'n," somebody murmured, sounding horrified.

No ship matched the Black Pearl for speed. Of course, that was if the crew was actually operating it. Barbossa strode forwards, shoving several worthless cretins out of his way as he tried to get an idea of Blackbeard's intentions. There were no signs of what the Revenge was going to do. Surely it wouldn't attack a ship that clearly had its back turned, even if it was Blackbeard, perhaps the most ruthless pirate upon the seas.

"Load cannons," Barbossa muttered. Jack the monkey scampered out of nowhere and onto his shoulder. When none of the crew moved, he span around in anger, drew his sword and waved it expertly in front of him. "Load the bleedin' cannons you sacks of dog filth! We en't standin' 'ere starin' them to death! Show 'em what the Pearl is made of!"

As soon as he had begun bellowing, the crew were immediately running to their posts, particularly to the cannons above and below deck. Barbossa stomped across the deck towards the wheel. Before he could climb the steps, however, an agonising pain in his bad leg forced him to stop. The damn mermaid had slithered onto deck and bitten heavily into his calf muscle, sucking at his blood in clear delight and clawing at his thigh. He attempted to drive his sword through her back, only to have her dodge and slam her powerful tail into the back of his knees. The captain crashed to the deck, yelling curses and foul words in her direction.

The Queen Anne's Revenge had made her intentions clear. The first load of shots had already been fired. Great pieces of wood and metal were soaring over the crew's heads as they hurried to prepare their own cannons. The constant smoke however made their eyes sting and water mercilessly, making it even harder to find the components in the darkness.

Barbossa was wrestling with the mermaid as she writhed on top of him, bearing her savage, bloodied teeth and snake-like tongue. His ship was quickly moving into an undesirable position.

"Will somebody take the bloody wheel!" he yelled as the mermaid raked his flesh with her nails and teeth. She was much stronger than she looked, and soon managed to wrap herself around him with her slimy tail, pinning him to the deck. Barbossa struggled within her tight grip as she hung triumphantly above his head. "Fire! Fire what you've done! Destroy 'em! Get to work!" The last command was aimed at a young lad who had realised the captain's plight and was uselessly hitting at the mermaid with a piece of wooden shrapnel.

Immediately, the Pearl's cannons flashed and Barbossa revelled in the sound of the Revenge taking hard hits. However, the Pearl was being thrown around in strengthening waves and out of range. Mr Cotton dived onto the helm and pulled at the wheel with all his strength, biding them some valuable time.

Barbossa still couldn't move beneath the mermaid. He roared at her, tried to punch her away, but her strength was too great for fists alone. "Fire!" Her hands ran down his chest as she lowered her face. "Load 'em up, give 'em everything!" Her teeth grazed his throat and she even dared a small bite on his shoulder. "Fire!" Barbossa fumbled for his pistol. As soon as the handle met his hands he slammed it into the sea-witch's stomach, causing her to shriek and loosen her hold for a split second. He rolled away from her and somehow managed to pin her beneath one of his knees.

"Are ye workin' for Blackbeard?" Barbossa shouted, crushing his knee into the small of her back. "Ye distract the crew whilst he creeps up behind 'em?"

The mermaid laughed. It sounded like the hollow gurgling of water as it slapped against a cliff face. She twisted her neck in order to face the captain and grinned with more sadism than even he could muster.

"I be takin' that fer a yes." He shot her in the spine.

The seemingly invisible crew of the Queen Anne's Revenge were not preparing to board. Their cannons were shooting relentlessly now, blasting mighty holes into the body of the Pearl. What did they want from Barbossa? Was Blackbeard after his title of Lord of the Caspian Sea? Did he want the Pearl for himself? Either did not seem probable for the only clear intention of the Revenge was to destroy her sister ship as quickly as possible.

Blackbeard's ship had its own fair amount of damage. The fire braziers had long been knocked into the elaborate drapes, setting them ablaze, and a large section of the sails were on fire. The Pearl was losing, however. Her mast was sweeping the night sky with slow rocks. If the mast went down, they would be stuck here for a good long time.

Barbossa pounced onto the wheel and managed to heave his great ship into a better position.

"Fire!" he bellowed, aiming his pistol at the Revenge's helm with as much precision as he could muster. Before he could take that critical shot, he was suddenly blinded by a furious flash of orange. The crew on the deck of the Pearl screamed and fell to the wood, some rolling as flames engulfed their clothes. The tattered black sails of his ship had been set alight. The flames climbed upwards, swallowing every rope, engulfing the mast with a heavy roar. "No!" Barbossa gasped, eyes wide. A long dormant sensation creeped into his bleeding chest.

Fear. His ship was getting destroyed. They were all going to die a dishonourable death brought on by Blackbeard's cowardly tactics.

"Sir!" One crew member staggered up the steps to the helm. A jagged piece of wood was sticking out of his shoulder. "They're killin' us! We need orders!"

"I can bloody see that!" shouted Barbossa, grabbing a stray bottle of rum. He pulled out the cork with his teeth, quickly stuck a filthy rag into its throat and set it alight with a candle. With a careful aim, he tossed the crude bomb at the mast of the Revenge and succeeded in setting alight a bundle of ropes tied to it. "Listen to me yeh worthless pack of flea-bitten scoundrels! Take the longboats and abandon ship if ye must!"

Bewildered pairs of eyes blinked at him from below. He rolled his own, but didn't shout at them, for the very concept of abandoning this ship made even him feel numb. The Pearl was everything. The Pearl was his. Now she was being obliterated for an unknown reason by a man without the courage to board and fight.

Barbossa didn't move from the wheel. Obviously, once his ship went down he was going down with it, no question. The crew seemed to realise this and looked at each other urgently.

Another load of cannon balls slammed into the vessel. A large section of the deck gave way with a horrible groan, causing several men to fall into her belly with pained screams. Nobody went near the longboats.

Rain fell from the blotted out night like watery needles, slamming cruelly into the skin of the men as they continued to load the cannons. They dived boldly around the soaking deck despite it becoming near impossible to see through the thick smoke and brewing storm. It seemed Calypso was unleashing her rage upon the battle. Barbossa wondered why she seemed to be on Blackbeard's side after everything he had done for her - the rain was not heavy enough to put out the huge flame burning the mast to ashes, and the waves were just pushing the Revenge closer and closer into range. In his mind he cursed her, the heathen, trickster goddess of the seas, whom he had served loyally, obeyed without question -

Pain. Barbossa buckled against the wheel as sharp teeth once again sank into his leg. He kicked wildly at whatever was shredding his flesh, and unsheathed his sword.

"Yeh bitch!" the captain roared as the mermaid dragged him off his feet. The shot from his pistol had hindered her tail alone, not her arms, leaving her free to attack him still. Her mouth, which had appeared so beautiful from a distance, was now full of his clotted blood which dripped heavily down her chin. She darted side to side to avoid his fierce strikes and eventually managed to claw her way up his body so she could scream into his own blood-soaked face. Barbossa rolled over so she was beneath him, squeezed her between his knees and prepared to unsheathe his sword to finish the witch off, but her smirk managed to halt his arm. In one of her hands was a bomb. It was his; she must have fished it out of one of his pockets. It was lit.

Barbossa forgot trying to kill her. He tried to stand to dive off the helm but he could only struggle within her strong grasp. Rabid thoughts raced wildly in his head - would this hurt? Would it be worse than his first death? Why wouldn't she allow him to die with some honour?

Despite her claws and teeth, Barbossa managed to wrench his upper half from her relentless hold and slash her throat with his sword. Immediately he was released as green blood bubbled and spurted from the wound, choking the mermaid enough to make her writhe in desperation. He rolled onto his feet and made for the steps.

But he was too late.

The captain was thrown forwards before he even heard the explosion. The bannister collided with his gut and he tumbled down the steps as they fell to the deck in pieces, also flying forwards from the blast. Everything was on fire. The ship, the sails, Barbossa. He slammed to the soaking wood below and curled into a ball - partly to protect himself from the sharp remains of the helm and partly because the pain was so great he could do nothing else - before vocalising his outrage. Blood and water blinded him. The almighty pain in his leg dulled the sound of the blows the Pearl was still taking.

Pintel dropped to the deck and rolled to put out the fire on his coat, yelling uselessly at Ragetti who was doing his best to load another cannon with shaking hands. The former also curled into a ball as the explosion at the helm rocked the entire ship.

"Captain!" he yelled, watching the shadowy figure get violently blown down the steps to the floor. The captain's quarters collapsed and huge shards were sent flying out to kill several members of the crew dead. "Barbossa! Captain down! Captain down!"

The man dragged himself to where Barbossa was sprawled. Heavy chunks of the ship were pinning the captain to where he was but he didn't seem to care as one of his legs was jerking involuntarily from the severe injury it had sustained. It was nothing but a burnt, bloodied mass, the flesh shredded enough to reveal a broken shin bone. Pintel retched at the sight but managed to swallow the contents of his stomach back down.

"Sir," he gasped, trying to push the wooden obstructions away, to no avail. Barbossa's agonised eyes locked onto his crew member's for a moment. One arm shot out to grab Pintel by his collar.

"Get ye to a longboat yeh sorry lump o' filth," Barbossa hissed, shaking the man roughly. "Take who ye can."

Pintel lingered reluctantly for a moment before scampering away to yell his orders to the surviving crew members. The feared and near-indestructable Black Pearl had finally reached the end of her life, as had her captain. Barbossa raised one of his hands to his face morosely, imagining it was rotting and skeletal as it had been when he was cursed. Cursed, but immortal. He clenched it and watched blood gather between his gnarled fingers.

Before him, the mast burnt ferociously. The ship, his most treasured possession - no, friend - was to meet its end by fire. Barbossa could only hope the fires of Hell would be less painful to see.


	2. Repose

Elizabeth had not had such an awful night in years.

Impassioned and terrifying dreams were rousing her from sleep every few minutes. Most she could not remember, but those she could were as clear in her memory as when she had dreamt them, tormenting her soul and making her sweat in panic. The woman writhed beneath her sheets as nightmares took hold and would not release her from their self-inflicted grip. Was she ill? Never had terrible visions such as these come over her, not even at the most frightening points of her life.

Elizabeth moaned and sat herself on her pillow, rubbing her eyes in tiredness and disbelief. She felt like a child. Even the dawning sense of reality could not shift the feeling of dread and fear - she was scared, but why? And why was she revelling in being scared for the first time since ...?

A ghost ship. Tall and dark as it was, it held a dismal sadness as it moved languidly before the rising moon. The wood was decidedly translucent, and particles of shadow seemed to flow from the body of the vessel, leaving a trail of black fog across the water. Small flames burned within the braziers, but sometimes they shifted from their positions to float across the deck as if they were living beings. Wraithlike black sails only confirmed the ships identity.

The Black Pearl. She was deader than she had been when cursed. Elizabeth remembered leaving the cold waves to board the ghost ship. She was naught but a spirit herself as she traversed across the deck with the haunted flames and shadows. Men watched her. They were stuck still in time, jealous and confused at her free state. Though their faces were calm, Elizabeth could hear echoes of screams all around and the terrible crackling of fierce flames, but still she was cold and calm.

Perhaps she had thought wrong? Perhaps she was upon the Flying Dutchman as it crossed the world of the dead? No ... she could distinctly remember the face of the captain. Barbossa. His brow had furrowed in confusion as she approached the helm, his blue eyes the only pleasant colour upon this deathly boat. Why was he here? Why were his hands locked like vices on the wheel? Why was his skin grey and his eyes losing that heavenly hue? And - was that ... blood?

A roar. Elizabeth thought she was going to die as the boat suddenly erupted into flames. She screamed and threw herself to the deck as the fire blinded her and scorched her flesh. All around, shards of metal and debris slammed into the wood as explosions rocked the entire vessel. The screaming was not an echo anymore. The woman rolled to her side to see men being killed by fire and shrapnel, whilst others cowered by their cannons, smothered in blood. She cried out to Barbossa to do something, to help them, but he seemed oblivious to his surroundings, his eyes still locked upon hers with a pained longing. She had to help him - he was trapped here -

The Flying Dutchman. It was there, the feared ship of the dead, watching. Elizabeth pressed herself to the side of the Pearl and reached for her husband's ship desperately. Will would help, he would take this souls to the eternal peace of the sea - but as she reached for him, the distant figure at the helm shook his head, and the boat passed on with no apparent second thoughts to the burning wreck behind it.

Somebody grabbed her. Barbossa. He span the shrieking woman around to face his tormented eyes and gripped her arms with a comforting hold. As fire raged around him, blood gathered at his mouth, his chest - but still he smiled. A small, relieved smile for her alone.

And then he was gone. The ship and the fires were gone, and silence was more deafening than the screams that had pervaded her before. Only darkness.

Lightning flashed, and Elizabeth was suddenly in her bed once again, her sheets crumpled about her frame. At the end of the bed was a shadowed figure. She squinted through the sweat.

"Calypso?" she breathed as the woman tilted her head and smiled. Another flash - the dark eyes and dreadlocks were gone, replaced by another woman entirely. One she had never seen.

Elizabeth roared in outrage sparked by her nightmares and grabbed the nearest heavy object - a cheap vase emptied of flowers. She held it threateningly towards the stranger and dared her to come closer, hissing through her teeth. She felt fierce, the memory of the burning Black Pearl and Barbossa's last smile fresh in her mind. It blinded her to reason.

"Elizabeth Turner?" the woman said calmly. The voice was accented and slightly exotic. Elizabeth's vision was becoming clear enough to see her rival was not in a pose to harm her, but still she did not loosen her hold on the vase.

"Get out of my house," she said, wishing she had a sword to fight with. The woman just grinned slightly and gestured at the vase.

"Aye, no wonder you were a king of pirates once."

"Get out! Who do you think you are, coming in here? I have a young child!"

"He's crying. You should see to him. Then we talk. I'm not here to hurt or steal from you."

"Then for what purpose have you broken into my house?"

"Oh ..." The stranger idly brushed dirt off of her waistcoat. "I'm repaying a favour, I suppose. Listen, I'll tell you everything, just stop that bloody screaming before I throttle the lad."

Elizabeth cautiously dropped the vase back onto her bedside table. Had the stranger not looked like a pirate, she would have hit her by now, which was a rather strange concept. But the plumed hat and pistol told her nothing else.  
She darted out to the dark hallway and spotted her son, William wondering blindly by the small staircase crying from fear. He dived into her arms and pressed his head into her thighs, sobbing incoherently. Clearly the storm had frightened him, or he had seen the pirate creeping about the house. It was what to be expected of a young lad going on five years old. She was terrified herself.

"William, what's all the noise? You should have come to me," she said gently, crouching down and messing her son's tawny hair. The lad wiped his nose on her nightdress.

"Storm is loud," he grumbled. Sighing, Elizabeth hoisted him to her chest and took him back to his room. It was small and modest like hers, but enough for them to get by for the time being. It was all she could afford presently. She tucked her son tightly into his sheets and sat with him for a moment, stroking his head as calmly as she could. Everything was happening so fast. First the awful dreams, then the pirate who had first looked like Tia Dalma ... She wished somebody would tuck herself up into bed sometimes, but there was nobody. Not since Will.

"Sleep," she whispered quietly, kissing William on the forehead. He nodded, and she quickly left the room to enter her own reluctantly.

The stranger was, for some reason, rooting through Elizabeth's wardrobe unashamedly.

"You got a coat in here?" the pirate asked brusquely. "You're gonna need it. Ah." She pulled a hooded long coat out and tossed it onto the bed, where it joined a shirt, a pair of breeches and boots.

"What on earth are you doing?" Elizabeth said, grabbing at the clothes in surprise. "Tell me why you're here or leave before I force you to!"

"Barbossa."

"What? Did he send you?"

"No. He needs your help, ma'am. Get your clothes on." The pirate pressed herself into the wall, her arms covering her face. "I'm not lookin'. Go on, get dressed! Before morning at least."

What on ...? Barbossa? Was he here? Why would he send for her help at this hour? How did he even know where she lived? Her dream was creeping slowly back into her memory. His half-dead eyes, sallow skin and small smile. Something in her gut was telling her to be weary of this thought. Perhaps Calypso had been trying to tell her something. She had shown herself briefly, after all.

No. Preposterous. It had been a silly dream, brought on by the boredom of living in this port town for years. Barbossa was not here, he was out looking for the Fountain of Youth. It was likely he had already found it. Calypso had been a hallucination brought on by her fear.

Elizabeth pulled on her clothes regardless, keeping a firm eye on the pirate.

"You're lying. Barbossa wouldn't come to me even if he needed help," she said matter-of-factly, pulling her hood over her head.

"Maybe so, but he had no choice in the matter," the pirate retorted, turning back. "Miss, my captain near killed him, thinking Jack Sparrow would be captaining the Pearl by now. We had no intention of killing Barbossa, 'specially after what you and him did for pirate-kind." The woman saluted Elizabeth briefly. "We boarded the Pearl after destroying it and found no Jack Sparrow, only your Barbossa with a useless chart. Me captain would've taken him aboard for his skills were it not for the leg. We didn't leave him, though. If we don't get to Sparrow then he will."

Elizabeth just stood with her mouth open. The Black Pearl was destroyed? The ship that had been her home upon the seas for many months was now a wreckage somewhere at the bottom of the ocean? Her dream ... no, it couldn't be. The Pearl was indestructible and fearsome. The very name struck fear into the hearts of the toughest pirates. And now she was gone, for what? An error by this woman's captain? How had Barbossa lost?

The two women left the house and entered the storm. The port town of Dover was frequently rocked by ferocious storms, and Elizabeth always knew her part in releasing Calypso had something to do with it. They quickly ran through the darkness, shielding their faces from the needle-like rain and blinding flashes of lightning, one distant and mysterious and the other confused as to the situation. So they had destroyed the Pearl, nearly killed Barbossa, and then what? Where was this pirate taking her?

They had jogged through the rain for fifteen minutes before the pirate woman stopped to catch her breath.

"We helped him out a bit, you see," she shouted through the gale, turning to face Elizabeth. Her face still was not clear in the harsh shadows of the tight street. "We ain't holding on to him, though. So I told the captain to take him to England where the pirate king is living. We might have caught Sparrow along the way. I had to ask around at some dodgy pubs to find out where you were. Here we go."

They were outside one of said pubs. The Dover Smugglers. It never closed, but only rundown sailors and overweight, bearded men ever seemed to go inside. Even now at this god-forsaken hour, the dirty windows were glowing with orange candlelight, a welcome sight indeed in this black, stormy town. The pirate pushed open the sodden wooden door and unleashed a pleasant warmth onto Elizabeth.

If this had been Tortuga, the pub would be exploding with noise and havoc, wenches giggling and pirates tipping over tables. The old sailors in here however were semi-conscious. The bar had several groggy men leaning against it as they attempted to stand on shaking legs, and the floor was littered with bodies who had not dealt with the alcohol so well. Clearly this was a regular occurrence as the barkeeper was stood wiping a beer tankard with a bored expression on his grizzled face. At the sight of the woman pirate, he grunted, pushing a drunkard off his bar and onto the floor.

"That were quick. I ain't a bloody doctor, miss. You get 'im off me 'ands by the morrow or I'm tossin' 'im into the sea."

Oh, God. Barbossa was here after all. Elizabeth could barely believe it. She had been devoid of pirates and their actions for nigh on five years, now this? Why was it she got involved in every event that affected pirates in some way?

"This way," the woman muttered, pulling Elizabeth out of the bar onto a staircase which led to the barkeep's quarters. This was even more rundown than the pub itself, and lacked the bright, warm glow from the lights. Elizabeth just wanted to get back to her safe house, and she wasn't quite sure what had made her follow this woman in the first place. Fear and trepidation kept her on her toes.

They entered a dark, dank corridor. The pirate knocked on the closest door and opened it, displaying more candlelight and a disturbing smell of rum, blood and sweat. Barbossa ...?

Elizabeth quickly pushed past the pirate into the room.

"Captain?" she bleated automatically, utterly shocked by what she was seeing.

He was sprawled on his back across a single bed, gripping a bottle of rum as if his life depended on it. His right shin was no more. Instead, a grotty looking peg-leg had taken its place. The very sight of it made her feel nauseous as reality crashed about her person. It was her old friend, Hector Barbossa, and he had been hurt.

The man raised his head at her utterance. Long, thin scratches adorned his neck and shoulders, which were bare, and angry looking burns stretched across his arms and chest. There was no greater wound than the dent in his ego, however. He had been savagely beaten by somebody, and had lost his ship to an undoubtably lesser captain. Elizabeth never thought she would see him this way. She hadn't even expected to ever see him again.

"'Zabeth?" he muttered, his speech slurred. The woman slowly approached him, still not quite believing what she was seeing. It was too surreal, yet powerfully disturbing.

The pirate woman quickly lit more candles from the few that had already been burning. She closed the curtains and shielded the storm from view.

"He's alright, ma'am. But he needs help and no one here can give it but you. The hospital would only make off with him for that large sum of gold attached to his name. Can you give him a bed until he's up on his feet? So to speak ..."

Elizabeth pulled down her hood and shot a pained smile to the dreary pirate on the bed. She ran a hand through her hair. She had planned a life with no pirates. It would just be her and her boy, and occasionally Will once he had his once-a-decade break from escorting souls to the afterlife. But this man had been her guide for months. Once he had terrified her half to death, but was her friend soon after. Perhaps she had admired him. She had never felt safer on a ship than when Barbossa was in charge, his great, indomitable figure looming at the helm.

He had helped her when she had needed it, when she had to lead the pirates to fight the EITC. He had wed her and Will whilst fighting piles of men and steering the Pearl through a maelstrom. Now she could show her gratitude in this way, by helping him get through this mess.

"Barbossa," Elizabeth said, confirming her presence. She stood before him and gently pried the bottle of rum from his hands. "You've got a way of evading death, haven't you? Perhaps being fearless is the only way to live forever."

Barbossa's lips curled into what might have been a smile. His eyes surveyed her, and the rather contented expression they gave was alarmingly similar to the one he had given her in her dream.

"'Zabeth," he said again, attempting to lean up. The two women helped him. "En't seen you in ... in ... Needed yeh on the ship ... the Pearl. It's gone, lass, it's gone ... Blackbeard ..."

"I know," she said softly, shooting the pirate woman a dark look. All this was partly her fault. "What's your name?"

"Angelica Teach," the woman mumbled, fetching Barbossa's shirt, coat and hat. Together they dressed him appropriately, careful to avoid his recently stitched wounds.

"Well, Angelica. I'm grateful for what you've done for him. But if he were in his right state of mind, he would be trying to kill you for what your crew did, and I understand that. You'll help me get him back to my house and then you will leave Dover. Am I clear?"

Angelica's dark eyes looked vaguely amused. She flicked a portion of her wavy brown hair over her shoulder and saluted again.

"Aye, ma'am."


	3. A Light in the Storm

The storm had died down somewhat.

Elizabeth sat demurely in her room at a small desk, rubbing her eyes from exhaustion. Upon her bed was Captain Barbossa whom was snoring loud enough to block out the distant rolls of thunder, his hat covering his face. She watched the sleeping man for a moment, still not quite believing he was there. For five years she had not been in contact with any of her old friends. It was far too dangerous, and her leaving this town even for a short while was impossible. Her son was schooled here for a start. She had a job, a house, a new life, and one day Will would sail to its shores to visit her. And now, when things were just about running smoothly in this new life, one of them had to turn up.

This did not frustrate or anger her. Captain Barbossa within her home was nothing short of pleasing. It would be nice having a friend stay for a while. She was the only one here for him now.

The quill in her hand stopped unsurely when she finished the date. She had taken up writing a diary about a year back, keeping track of the days so she could perhaps show it to Will upon his arrival. But over time, her entries became nought but a couple of sentences long, and mostly described how well William was doing at school or how stressful work had been. What to write now? That a pirate captain was currently in her bed? That wouldn't look good at all.

Instead, after a thoughtful smile, she wrote simply; _An old friend has come to visit. Here's hoping he does not request a bushel of apples when feeling better._

Elizabeth closed the leather-bound book and stood to hover by Barbossa's side briefly. She dabbed at his fevered brow with a wet rag the pirate woman had fetched before leaving. The man grunted and sleepily tried to push her attentions away.

"Bugg'roff," he mumbled, attempting to focus on her hand. It seemed he wasn't quite sure where he was, which was understandable, but had he forgotten she was here already? No doubt the rum Angelica had given him to ease the pain was fogging up his memory. It was fairly amusing for Elizabeth to see him in this state, because for once his face was not lined with anger or deep thought. It was totally relaxed, aside from the occasional sneer or grimace as pain took hold. Maybe he did know she was here after all.

"How do you feel?" Elizabeth asked, pushing the candle on the bedside table closer to his head. His dull gaze met her own.

"Din't I tell yeh to take the wheel, Mrs Turner," Barbossa mumbled. He winced, then groaned as his bad leg twitched. " ... Coulda done with ye out there ... bloomin' sea witch couldn't keep 'er claws to 'erself. Gonna kill tha' bastard Blackbeard ... sunk us ... sunk the Pearl, missy, we coulda done with ye ..."

Elizabeth lowered her face to his to inspect him more closely. Was he even awake? Or was he dreaming the same dream that had filled her own night with fire and despair?

"Barbossa? Do you know where you are?" she asked clearly, dabbing his head again. "Can you hear me?"

"Dun' let 'er burn. It's sinkin', Turner, the Pearl ... It can't - she can't ... I lost 'er, 'Zabeth, I lost 'er ..."

Barbossa's hands were clenched. He was seeing things she couldn't see, his eyes roving wildly around the room. Worried now, Elizabeth gave one of his cheeks a firm slap and held his head still. However, this only seemed to anger him further. The captain grabbed her wrists and pushed her away to the floor with surprising strength, growling with outrage. Despite his half-drunken, exhausted state, he dragged himself upright and stood over her body.

Elizabeth panicked. The look on his face bore murderous intent. He was not in his right mind, but she would not have her son walking in on a terrible brawl between her and a stranger. Before Barbossa could act, she kicked his peg leg backwards, causing him to crash onto his knee with a pained hiss, grasping the bed sheets to hold himself steady. Again, she held his face between her hands with all the strength she could muster.

"Look, you idiot man, it's me! Elizabeth! You're not on the Pearl - you're in my home. Now settle down before you wake the entire street!" She slapped him again. There was silence for a few moments, wherein the only sound was the light pattering of dying rain against the window. Outside, the sun was steadily rising from behind a bleak, grey cloud, filling the town with a light it had not seen for many days. This warm glow slowly entered Elizabeth's bedroom.

Barbossa blinked blearily, his hands crawling to her wrists again. He did not push her, though. Instead, he held her hands to his face, as if seeking comfort.

"I thought you were somethin' else," he admitted, allowing himself to focus upon her properly for the first time. "Oh, damn the gods," he added lowly, releasing her wrists to fall defeatedly against the bed. "What's become o' me, Elizabeth? I've lost the Pearl good n' proper to that wheezin' cockroach Blackbeard. Where in blazes am I? The crew?"

Elizabeth quickly reached for a water jug and glass she always kept in her room. She poured a hefty load into the glass and put it to Barbossa's parched lips.

"Drink and I will tell you," she ordered softly. The captain drained the glass within seconds, allowing droplets of water to steadily drip down his chin to his chest where they lingered on the sun-kissed skin. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. The woman stood and rubbed her chin. She'd hit it in the fall. "You're in England, Barbossa. Dover. The crew of the ship that attacked you brought you here due to their captain's bad judgement. They thought Jack was captain of the Pearl. That woman mentioned they were looking for charts, so they must know he's in possession of the ones leading to the Fountain. Must've thought it would have been easier taking them from him dead. She said they knew the pirate king was living here and she found me. Clearly our work together has become known all across the oceans." Elizabeth smiled shortly. "So now you're here, with me. As for your crew ..." she paused, thinking back to her terrible dream that had proved to be true. "I don't think many of them made it."

Barbossa was a man of few irregularities. He was either calm and collected or in a fearsome rage. Now, as he sat on the floor before her, his pallid eyes bespoke a reluctant sadness. The Pearl sinking was a great misfortune. The ship was as much a part of him as he was of it - the only true pirate vessel in the Caribbean. It had achieved legendary status whilst under his command. It had brought down the mightiest of navy and pirate ships alike, and destroyed the toughest of coastal developments. It had sailed with the Flying Dutchman through maelstroms and had escaped the wretched shores of Davy Jones' Locker. It had explored the darkest, most haunted seas that most men feared to traverse. It had bore a goddess on her wretched journey to be joined with the sea once again. And now, it had been destroyed on a whim in a matter of minutes, most of it's crew slaughtered for nothing.

"I suppose the crew of the Revenge were kind enough to give me this, on top of everythin' else," Barbossa growled, his lips twitching in anger. He was looking at his peg leg as if it had done him great harm. "I'll find 'im, Elizabeth. 'E's nothin' but a wretched coward, hidin' low for years 'n then destroyin' the Pearl with foul tricks. 'Im n' Jack. The Black Pearl may be gone but it don't mean I can't live up to me name still."

Elizabeth nodded and helped the man back onto the bed. He kept to one side this time, now aware that she too needed sleep. "I've no doubt you'll find them, Barbossa," she said, dabbing his heated forehead once again. "Now you rest. Don't think upon what happened too much."

Before she joined him in sleep, she thoughtfully opened her diary to the latest page. Under the last entry, she added; _Unfortunately, another old friend died some nights ago._

Barbossa was no more himself after gaining rational thought.

Under Elizabeth's cautious yet fascinated care, it had taken him a mere few days to burn through a raging fever that devoured whatever remaining energy he had left after Blackbeard's attack. The illness had temporarily rendered him unresponsive and barely conscious through the worst night, though it wasn't long before he was sat up and shouting insults towards his peg leg and the mysterious Blackbeard. It was safe to say that he was not himself. Though the fact he could shout and swear after his physical turmoil was not a surprise, Elizabeth was seriously struggling to get him to eat or drink despite the captain being a man of luxury whatever situation he was in before this one. If she tried to talk him into eating a forkful of whatever meal she had prepared, he would sneer at it and force her hand away. If she put a goblet to his lips he would shoot her the nastiest glare he could muster.

He was impossible, aggravating and imposing, even when ill. But the thought of him wasting away terrified a part of Elizabeth. Nothing could happen to him now. Not after what had happened. With this thought constantly in mind, the young woman did everything she could to make him comfortable and secure.

William was positively petrified of Barbossa. There had been much alarm when he had entered his mother's room the morning Angelica had left to find a tall man dressed as a pirate in place of Elizabeth. It had taken much effort to calm him and get him used to the captain's presence, though Barbossa's awful temper did nothing to sate the boy. The poor thing often cried to his mother when the man was in a rage. She had told him carefully that the captain was not a pirate - rather, an old friend who had been taken hostage at sea and needed her help to get better. Most of the story was true, anyhow, and it did ensure William would not go telling teachers at his school that the afeared Captain Barbossa was taking residence in his home.

Elizabeth had been forced to lie to work in order to remain at home. Being a rather unimportant assistant to Dover's dockmaster she was easily replaceable by a young sailor for a while, at least while she was healing from a fictitious bout of flu. She did somewhat deserve a small break, anyway. She had worked day in, day out for the snooty navy men, doing useless and repetitive chores for the sake of money, forced to stare out at sea all these years without once setting sail. It was surely a crime to be surrounded by beautiful boats and a glowing horizon only to remain firmly on the clean, orderly docks, but her direction was always homeward now, and by foot.

Barbossa was a bit of the unreachable within her own home.

Sharing a bed with him did not falter Elizabeth in the slightest. After all, she had often shared squalid and cramped conditions aboard pirate ships surrounded by grubby and odd-smelling male crew members. It was what occurred at night which disturbed her somewhat. Frustratingly, her morbid, often violent dreams had not dispersed upon realising the Pearl's fate. They were only getting worse and the woman would often wake with a shout, covered in sweat with horrible images replaying over within her head. Her lack of sleep was weakening her own temper, and it was a job holding her tongue towards young William whom would often vent his annoyance at the stranger's presence. Upon waking from a nightmare - which was an all to frequent occurrence for her liking - she would glance at the body of Barbossa and feel comforted. Too often he was burning along with his ship in her mind's warped visions. Sometimes he would be resting on the headboard, his eyebrows lowered as he watched her with interest. Once, he had smiled.

"Mrs Turner, ye are far too good to me," he had rumbled upon the Saturday. Elizabeth and William had gone to the market in town, and whilst there the young woman had bought several green apples for him alone. She entered her room and held one aloft. "Ye din't have to go to all that trouble, missy."

"Apples aren't as expensive here as they are at the Caribbean, Barbossa. There's an orchard by a village not ten minutes away by carriage - your twisted view of heaven, no doubt." Elizabeth tossed the apple to him with a smug smirk. His hand darted greedily out for it, though he missed and the fruit bounced heavily off his chest into his lap. "Are you feeling better?"

Barbossa thoughtfully inspected the apple. "Aye. 'Tis better bein' here than at the bottom o' the ocean," the captain said, his gaze drifting to hers. "Ye were like a god-send when I saw yer face, Turner. Yeh've been slavin' away for me ever since. A man can do nothin' but feel better." He bit into the apple. His face relaxed in pleasure as the sweet juices of the fruit melted onto his tongue. "I'll be makin' all this worth yer while, mind."

Elizabeth sat on the edge of her double bed and felt his brow. "You've been appalling, captain. My son thinks you're the devil on Earth. In what way could you possibly make this worth my while?"

"Ye be right. I got nothin' but me clothes n' weapons now, miss. But ye do know I can quite easily pay ye for yer kind hospitality once I get me 'ands on a ship. Let yer mind think back to the horde o' treasure on Isla de Muerta - 'tis all mine seein' as the old crew are dead. Plus more buried elsewhere. I'm a believer o' sharin', missy, n' a portion o' that - though small, ye understand - rightfully belongs to ye now."

His offer was very tempting indeed. Ten years of loot was stored on that cursed island. It was positively overflowing with gold and jewels, more than Barbossa would ever need for himself. She was surprised he would dangle such a prize before her, for all she had done was give him a bed for a few nights. Perhaps the fever had not completely left his mind. Whatever the case, any treasure she owned would be earned by her own actions.

"I don't want treasure, Barbossa," Elizabeth said, watching the man bite a chunk out of the apple and hungrily suck the juice from the wound. "Let your mind think back to when I was your hostage all those years ago. You never treated me as such."

"Aye," the captain retorted, wiping his mouth. "You were jus' in fear o' yer life n' virtue for weeks on end." He gave a dirty laugh. Obviously he was harbouring a memory of her in that wretched red dress, terrified out of her wits. "Yer far too noble, Turner. Best be a scallywag n' allow yerself some form o' reward. If not for ye I'd probably be dead, n' I'd rather not be goin' through all that again if it pleases ye."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she replied, not intending to think of anything at all. "You should try standing again now, otherwise your good leg could get sore. Come on."

Elizabeth offered her hand, though the captain refused it. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the side of the bed and stood. Even though he was only dressed in his shirt and trousers, the crude prosthetic leg was rather befitting to him. Naturally it would be strange for him to get used to it as evidenced by the shaking of his right knee. Elizabeth quickly grasped one of his arms.

"This is gonna be a sour bitch on wet wood," Barbossa announced loudly, sliding the peg leg on the floor in experimentation.

"I would rather my son did not hear such expressions, captain."

Indeed, the house was small enough for harshly spoken words to be heard from opposite sides. It was composed of a large sitting area and fireplace, with a small kitchen attached, and a small flight of stairs to a landing that overlooked the ground floor and led to two small bedrooms. It was a dark house, lacking in windows, though rather cosy. It had been an excellent roost to raise a young lad.

"Aye, no doubt he inherited yer unfortunate disposition o' bein' in places yeh should not," Barbossa grumbled. He wearily lowered himself back onto the bed and rubbed his right knee. "I need a few more days. It feels like they hacked it off with a blunt butter knife."

Elizabeth stared at his leg. Only the gods knew how the crew of the Revenge had made such a clean job of it. Whilst he was asleep at one time, she had unbuckled the peg leg and checked the wound for signs of infection or severe bleeding, but there had been none. In fact, the skin had already healed over somewhat. She suspected that Blackbeard had access to medical supplies unfortunately unknown to most men.

"So what happened?" she said. The question had been itching on her tongue ever since he had arrived, but only now did he seem to be in the right state of mind to answer. The captain looked at her grimly.

"To me leg or me ship?" He didn't wait for her to reply. Instead, he grunted and moved to lean against his pillow. "A foul mermaid flopped up from the depths in order to distract me n' the crew. She -"

"A what?!"

"Don't be so surprised, missy. Yeh've been in the presence o' a goddess once. I should be a rotted corpse with a hole in me chest, but I'm not. They be nothin' but demons, Turner, not the blonde-haired beauties ye know 'em as. Calypso uses 'em as messengers, or assassins when she be too tired to be killin' people herself. This one were working' for Blackbeard. She lit a bomb on deck n' took me down with her as far as I can remember, n' that were after Blackbeard crept on up to pulverise me ship."

Elizabeth tried to picture Barbossa battling a mermaid, though couldn't quite manage it. Despite his words, she saw a romanticised, beautiful version of the creature, and imagined it throwing itself over the captain in an attempt to seduce him. They were branches of the passionate Calypso, after all.

"It's awful," she said lowly.

"Aye. Nothin' good comes from dwellin, though. Best move on and forget it." He silenced and looked morosely towards the window. After a moment, he squinted, then did a double-take. Elizabeth followed his gaze and was shocked to see Jack the monkey sat on the stone windowsill, watching them with greedy brown eyes. He was shivering.

"I thought he were dead," Barbossa croaked as Elizabeth opened the window. Jack leapt onto her bed and scampered onto the captain to sit on his chest, eyeing the half-eaten apple and licking his lips. He was immediately given it along with a fond scratch on the head. "Must've stowed away on their ship n' got lost. Good lad …"

The monkey was a conniving beast. Nobody but Barbossa seemed to like him. Although his fur was soft and his eyes large, he had the same greedy love for treasure as his master. Elizabeth could not help but feel relieved at the thing's arrival, however, as it was sure to cheer up her guest, and he would look more himself with it sat upon his shoulder. She quickly fetched a dry towel from the shelf of her wardrobe and allowed Barbossa to wrap the soaking Jack inside it.

"He's certainly audacious. You'll have to keep him under your gaze though, otherwise people will start asking questions."

"I suppose yeh'll get into a bit o' trouble if I'm found here. Figures, don't it? Ye do a good deed worthy o' wholesome praise only to get hung." The captain chuckled darkly and let Jack nibble lightly on his finger. "I'll do me best to keep him outta sight. Jus' make sure ye keep yerself off the gallows until I can walk." He grinned, though it was void of the usual malice. "Per'aps ye should go back to workin'. It don't take a young lady this long to throw off a cold, missy, 'specially a pirate king."

Elizabeth shrugged and smiled. "They won't miss me for a few more days yet. I'm rather enjoying doing bugger all."

Indeed, for the next few days she continued to feign illness. Aside from taking her son to school, she did nothing at all. It felt glorious having all this free time to herself. Under normal circumstances, she'd have read books or gone shopping in town for jewellery or clothes. Instead, she remained shut in her bedroom with Barbossa every hour she could.

It was an unconvincing lie that she was merely keeping an eye on him. It was a lie she told herself often. Perhaps the real reason as to her attachment to him was because he had fascinated her all over again. He would tell her stories of his past, or mermaids and gods in strong, eloquent and bewitching tones. He would listen to her recount of the past five years living in England. He did it all with that small smile and strangely soft gaze that rarely graced his features.

On the Wednesday night, Elizabeth was awoken by the savage beating of rain and gales against her window. She couldn't see it, however, as Barbossa's shadowed form blocked the glass. As if sensing her consciousness, he slowly turned, his face unreadable in the darkness.

"'Nother storm, missy. No doubt the docks will be closed tomorrow."

"Why are you awake?" the woman asked, rubbing her eyes to see him more clearly.

"Ye were dreamin' again."

Jack chittered dozily from Barbossa's pillow. It was true, she had been experiencing dreams again, though fortunately they were not as violent or terrifying as the ones before. They consisted of endless seas and dark islands. Once, she had seen a lonely Black Pearl bobbing quietly on angry waves, lost in its direction entirely with nobody to guide it. Another time she had seen a golden sloop travelling a neat, straight course into the setting sun, leaving the ferocious yet enticing ocean behind it. She was undeniably missing her adventures and the various characters she had met during those times. The times of strength and achievement. Courage and honour.

The sloop disappeared, though. It's small but proud sails were not to be seen again.

"I don't mean to wake you," Elizabeth said. She snuggled deeper into the warm crevasse her body had created and continued staring at Barbossa's back. His posture was straighter than it had been since he'd arrived. That impressive, robust stance was beginning to return.

"I know that."

"We can walk to the sea tomorrow if you want, even if the storm is still battering the town. Nobody will be out. I'm sure you're burning to feel the wind in your face again." The woman smiled to herself at the fleeting nostalgia.

"'N the spray o' the sea," Barbossa mumbled idly. He looked at her again as if expecting her to complete the quotation, though seemingly decided they had gone far enough. "Aye. This room be a tad small after all this time."

Elizabeth watched him limp back to the bed. He had not slept under the quilts thus far, though the nights were getting a lot chillier now. He carefully pulled back the sheets.

"Do ye mind?" he asked. Now he was closer, Elizabeth could just see his blue eyes examining her face. Did he think she didn't trust him? She knew him well enough to ascertain he would not try and impose a sneaky feel under the safety of bedsheets. At least, not anymore. Granted, being in such intimate proximity would be strange, though nothing she wouldn't get used to.

"I wouldn't have you freeze to death now," she smirked. Barbossa gently nudged Jack from the pillow and clambered onto the bed. It was when he finally settled down comfortably Elizabeth realised that he was much bigger and warmer than she. The heat under the bedsheets rose considerably.

"Aye. A walk it is."


	4. Wolves of the Seas

"Do ye miss him?"

The sun had vanished from the skies, smothered over by a thick veil of dark grey clouds. It seemed to have been swallowed by the equally grey, swirling waters of the English Channel, which were determined to climb as high up the infamous white cliffs of Dover as possible, clawing at the chalky rock with howling roars. Curtains of fog and light drizzle hung in the cold air, sweeping across the horizon with melancholy grace. Perhaps it was the refreshing chill of the wind and rain, or the strong churning of the sea, but Elizabeth felt rather powerful amidst the chaotic atmosphere. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, facing out to sea with a somewhat determined gleam to her brown eyes. Barbossa was nearby, even closer to the cliff edge than herself. He looked entirely unfazed - at home, even.

They were small and insignificant compared to the land. Rolling green hills stretched out endlessly behind them and the cliffs stood proud beneath their feet. Such sights were often a warm welcome for a sailor coming into port. For the pirate and the lady, it was the sea that was their true home.

Elizabeth pondered Barbossa's question reluctantly. Her immediate thought was yes, of course she missed him. He was her husband. However, five years was a painfully long time, and it would take that again until he could return for a single day. She was ashamed to admit she could barely remember what it was like to be in his presence, or even maintain a perfect image of his face.

"Yes. But it's getting easier, I suppose," she replied. "William asked if he was dead, once."

"There is a truth in that. Poor blighter has no heart, after all." Barbossa looked back at her, amused. "I haven't the foggiest how he made yeh pregnant when his blood is as still as an underwater spring. Yer lad were born of impossible odds."

Elizabeth felt a blush creeping into her cheeks from his scrutinising stare.

"He is Will's. It's the only way."

"Aye, I'm sure of it, missy. Yeh look like yer made of wood nowadays."

Elizabeth sneered childishly. She didn't know what he was on about. There were no similarities between her and wood whatsoever. The pirate only shot her an aggravated look.

"I can wait another five years for him. It's not difficult. He's the one ferrying souls."

"Maybe so, but he en't havin' to deal with human requirements now, is he? He's dead. His job leaves no room for hunger or thirst, or anythin' else. Ye have another five years of keepin' yerself to yerself. Do you see what I'm sayin', Turner? Bein' so deprived for a decade leaves one ... prone to insanity, shall we say. Both ye and I know that."

"My job is to be here when he gets back, as his wife," Elizabeth said stiffly. Barbossa had no right to speak of such tender matters to her.

"Yer job is to make sure his heart en't impaled. That's all. Jus' 'cause he is void of all earthly pleasures it don't mean you have to be the same. I had no choice in the matter 'n ended up gettin' shot for me acts. A job en't worth that much if yer own heart isn't in it after all these years. Makes it seem much more tedious 'n a bit of a bore. I'm sure ye understand that. Has no one in this dismal mud-bath of a town caught yer fancy?"

Elizabeth wrapped her coat tighter around her body and glared at the captain. A part of her wished he was still laying on her bed, unconscious and silent. His morals were twisted and wrong in every way imaginable.

"I'm his _wife_ , Barbossa. You wed us yourself in case you forgot that detail."

"Aye, one o' me finest moments," the pirate said smugly. "Though it were per'aps the direct opposite of a good ol' fashioned Christian weddin'. I don't recall ye swearin' to remain faithful to the whelp. Although, I were tryin' not to die at the time." He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "Ye were wed by a pirate captain on a ship. The rules o' the oceans apply, Turner, not those of yer church. Wouldn't ye agree?"

"Marriage is marriage. I'm hardly going to shack away with another man just because I can't control myself. Will doesn't deserve it, and my son would get confused," Elizabeth replied calmly. Underneath this exterior, she was raging. He had cottoned on to her deepest, darkest thoughts already. The ones which were despicable and unforgivable. Every man was out of bounds so long as Will was married to her - it was a basic rule of matrimony that Barbossa was too wicked to care about. She found it hard to believe he'd ever had a singular long-term partner, so he would never understand the immoral enormity of betraying Will in such a way.

"What he don't know won't kill 'im. He captains a ship o' the dead, missy. He's nought but a spirit himself most o' the time - no bonds of the livin' attached to his name. Yer unbound. As for yer boy ... same goes. Ignorance is bliss."

"How would you feel if you were wed and your wife bedded another man, Barbossa?" Elizabeth asked, uncomfortable now. His words made sense though they were entirely wrong. Her friend squinted at her for a moment.

"Then I'd give 'er a good hard seein' to so she remembers why she married me," he laughed. Elizabeth grimaced in disbelief. He was as impossible and insane as he had always been. "Unfortunately for you, m'lady, Will's assets are quite literally a world away. Yeh bored out yer wits and gaspin' for adventure, Elizabeth. I can feel it. Don't deny yerself what ye need or ye may well end up like this ol' soul." Barbossa placed a mockingly woeful hand to his chest. "A one-legged scoundrel with nothin' at all." He turned to inspect the sky, looking for the near invisible sun. "It's up to ye, o' course."

"I'd like you to stop thinking you know what my needs are."

"Everyone's needs be the same. You en't inhuman just 'cause your spouse has succeeded Davy Jones. Even the gods do what they can to sate their desires." Barbossa's face blanked for a moment. "'Specially Calypso. She were very much in love with that poor fool Jones. Didn't stop her havin a bit o' fun every now 'n then."

"How on earth could you know that?" Elizabeth asked, interested despite her annoyance. The answer hit her before the words even left her mouth. Barbossa's facial expression told her everything. He smirked at her devilishly.

"Me heart were full o' fire when she granted me life back. I ate 'n drank nonstop for days; I couldn't help meself when she made her own yearnin' apparent. I'm a pirate, missy, there were a thrill in havin' me way with the sea herself."

The undulation of the waves was getting increasingly violent. The wind howled lugubriously as it whistled past the two figures, threatening to make off with Barbossa's hat, which he had insisted upon wearing. It was cold and threatening to drench them in rain at any moment. Elizabeth didn't mind this so much, but she was worried Barbossa would become ill from an exposure to such foul weather, which would only make his rather tender condition much worse for she would not be able to get him professional help. His behaviour was not making her rush the point, however. Their conversation had taken an unnecessary turn and delved too deeply into her private matters. It had been strangely interesting to learn he'd had a short but lusty liaison with the goddess of the seas, but she would not be exposing any of her desires to anyone.

"I understand, but nobody holds that much attraction for me," she said unsurely. Whenever the subject arose in her mind she would always smother it with more pressing thoughts. Had anybody caught her attention in such a way? "Unlike you I haven't been resurrected by a lascivious god with a fixation on prestigious pirate captains."

"Nay, but ye would attract a lasvicious novelist with words like that spillin' from your mouth," Barbossa muttered, evidently giving up on his efforts of persuasion. "It's good to know ye think I'm prestigious anyhow." He highlighted the quoted word with a mocking rise of intonation. His temper was taking an abrupt turn for the worse.

Frustrated, Elizabeth moved away from the pirate in order for him to calm himself before heading home. She walked with vexed posture down a grassy, steep slope that took him out of her eye-line and out of the worst of the wind. Indeed, just as she stopped and folded her arms, chilly drops of rain hit her face before it could be heard pattering on the cliff-face and sea. It was nice living in England again, for she had not so since her youth, but unfortunately it meant spending the entirety of the year soaked to the skin until Summer warmed the shores.

She nervously kicked a lone pebble, making it roll steadily towards the cliff face and into oblivion. Barbossa's words had struck a nerve she had barely knew existed. It was not pleasant feeling so fickle, or knowing she had more than once questioned her odd relationship with Will that permitted no communication unless she took to the seas again, which she could not whilst William was so young. Once, he had been her handsome hero, the man who loved her unconditionally. But life was so much more than that now. Time can change anything with no mind of being fair. Her wavering love for Will was not justified at all. It was wrong. Selfish.

But sometimes, upon the frequent occasions she was alone, her darkest fantasies felt so inexplicably right.

It wasn't fair to be so alone. It wasn't fair to have her life so planned out by the results of Davy Jones' death. It wasn't fair she could only stare at the sea without once setting sail upon it.

With this thought, she turned her gaze to Barbossa.

A flicker of movement. Elizabeth looked around to a dense mound of shrubbery that was innocently flaying in the strong wind. She was sure she had seen somebody there from the corner of her eye, though the wild branches of the bushes along with the rain had no doubt played tricks on her vision. It had to be said she was also rather tired from the week's events.

"Jack," Barbossa grunted from his perch. He'd heard the monkey before Elizabeth. She'd half expected him to emerge from the shrubbery after having run from her house, though the lithe creature was galloping along the cliff-face towards Barbossa from a completely different direction. He was screeching, his small fangs bared for an unknown reason. Upon reaching his master he wrapped himself around his neck and jerked angrily.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth called. The pirate had taken heed of his pet's behaviour and was glaring at the green landscape, his shoulders tense. At the sound of her voice, he immediately span around to stride to her location, though his bright eyes widening in horror was the last thing the woman saw before the ground met her face.

She cried out in pain as her jaw slammed into the rock-hard earth. As she attempted to roll onto her front, it became apparent that something was weighing down her legs, scrabbling at them with horribly sharp claws that shredded any skin they met. Elizabeth's first thought was a wild animal, but even in her panic she reminded herself that no beast near Dover could do this amount of damage to a human.

With an angry bellow, the woman kicked violently at whatever was ravaging her legs. There was a horrific crunch, then a feminine cry of pain that was high-pitched and strangely inhuman. The weight lifted for a split second. Elizabeth deftly rolled away from the creature and grabbed the closest rock she could find.

It was a woman. A naked woman who was forced to drag herself across the land with her arms, propelled by a slimy, worm-like fish's tail. Its hair was like lank strands of dried seaweed and its skin bore no more colour than a sheet of parchment. Perhaps the worst aspect of its savage, disgusting appearance were the black eyes embedded into its face like perfectly round coins drenched in oil.

The mermaid hissed and grabbed her flattened nose which was streaming green blood. Had this beast been following her and Barbossa the whole time? Before Elizabeth could even swing her rock, however, the mermaid threw itself forwards and grabbed her wrist. In its attempt to pull the woman to the ground once again, it twisted her arm hard enough to induce an agonising spasm of pain that shot like fire to her shoulder before settling to burn beneath her flesh. She was unfazed, however. Similar things had happened in battle - it was just a matter of ignoring the pain entirely. She had the advantage of having two legs, after all, and it was easy to kick the mermaid to the ground via the stomach and knock it unconscious with the rock.

For a moment, Elizabeth stood and stared in disbelief, breathing heavily. It was difficult to grasp the concept of a supposedly mythological creature attacking her for no reason, though she had seen enough to not let it stun her for long. Undead pirates and a humungous Kraken were a far sight more terrifying than a screaming, slimy fish-woman. It had done some damage, however. Her wrist ached and was shaking from the trauma.

Another mermaid's scream. Barbossa.

Forgetting her injury, Elizabeth picked up the bloodstained rock and ran to help her friend. Yet another creature had her tail wrapped around his legs much akin to how a serpent would crush its prey. It had caught him on the slope, causing him to fall and crumple to the ground dangerously close to the cliff edge.

"Hector!" Elizabeth shouted in shock. Immediately, she dived onto the mermaid with intent to hit it with the rock, though claws met her chest and she was forced to drop the weapon from pain.

"Get the ruddy hell off me yeh great mash o' -" Barbossa roared, only to be interrupted by a hard backhand to the face. His expression turned wild. In a barbaric fit of rage, he returned the mermaid's move with twice the strength and seized her throat. He squeezed until it was forced to release his legs in panic, roughly picked it up by the neck and stood to hold the creature over the cliff-face.

It's hair whipped wildly about its furious face as it dangled precariously in the wind.

"If yeh dare come back I will not hesitate to kill ye, wench," Barbossa growled. He released the mermaid's throat and it disappeared to fall the sickeningly long distance to the sea. The threat was idle - she would be miraculously lucky to survive such a fall. Without stopping to watch, the pirate stomped to where the second mermaid lay and dragged it over the edge of the cliffs by the tail.

Elizabeth watched him return to her. He inspected her for a moment before grabbing her wrist.

She covered her mouth to stop the pained gasp. His grip was angry and rough.

"Move yer fingers," he commanded. She did so, and his hold loosened to be somewhat gentler. "Jus' a sprain. Where else did she hurt ye?"

Elizabeth shrugged blearily, still dazed and unsure of what had just happened. Barbossa rolled his eyes. He carefully put a hand to her chin and lifted it, his thumb tracing the jawbone with surprising softness.

"Yeh fine, Elizabeth. Lucky she didn't throw ye right off there. I'd hate to be pickin' up yer parts off the beach."

His dire stab at humour didn't help. It was bad enough two women with fish tails had nearly been successful in killing them both without being reminded of the consequences. The large rips in her coat and shirt opened her to the harsh cold of the wind and rain, and didn't do much in hiding her decency. Fortunately, the cuts gained from the assault were shallow despite the pain they caused. The wet, salty air was not doing her the world of good. Barbossa's presence, however, was.

The pirate gave her arms a quick squeeze before sliding off his heavy coat. He draped it over her shoulders, beckoned to the squawking Jack to sit on his shoulder, then abruptly turned to walk in the direction of Dover.

"They must've been friends o' that witch that blew up half the Pearl," he muttered darkly. He stopped and faced Elizabeth again, watching her all but waddle up to him. "Ye weren't meant to get involved in this mess, Turner. I didn't mean for …" he gestured loosely at her bewildered state. In a strange, awkward act of tenderness probably brought on by guilt, he pulled his coat tighter around her frame and buttoned it. "Yer womanly parts are on display. Did she rip out yer tongue by any chance, missy?"

"No. I just … wasn't expecting that. Can I sit down for a moment?"

Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth moved to a bone-white boulder and perched nervously on top of it. Her heart was still racing wildly from the violent encounter, so much so her blood was rushing to her head, making her feel giddy and sick with unease. What if they hadn't been the only mermaids here? What if there were more watching them at this very moment? The image of Barbossa falling in a heap so close to the cliff-edge was prevalent in her memory, repeating over and over again. And what about William? Was he in danger, too? What would have happened to him if she had been killed just then?

"William - I have to go -" she started, standing. She attempted to begin a swift run back to his school, though Barbossa's firm hand pushed her back to the rock and held her there.

"Yer in a state, Turner. Sit still."

"Of course I'm in a bloody state!" Elizabeth bellowed suddenly, shoving his hand away. "We were just nearly thrown to our deaths! By mermaids of all things!"

"Aye, I realise that believe it or not. We've both been through worse 'n lived to tell the tale; this just adds to the list."

"There might be more! What if they come back?"

"Then Jack will kindly warn us of 'em again," Barbossa drawled. He added, "Thank ye, Jack," before slowly sinking into a kneel in order to take his weight off his leg. He rubbed it and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry. You should sit here," Elizabeth said, standing again. The pirate's hand met her belly and she was forced back down.

"Will ye sit still for five flamin' minutes, Turner? I just landed on it is all."

The woman tried to take deep, slow breaths to steady her heart. Initially, staring at Barbossa alone instead of the sea seemed to be a good idea, but it quickly became apparent it only made her state worse. Perhaps she felt guilt at his pain? If she had seen that mermaid coming, she could have acted faster to help him. No doubt the cold, wet weather was not doing any good to his injured leg at all. After a few minutes of silence, the pirate reached for her arm and uncovered it from the too-long sleeve. For a moment, he held her hand between his much larger fingers and thumb like a gentlemen preparing to kiss a lady's knuckles.

"Still hurt?" he asked, beginning to turn her wrist over and over easily within his palms. Elizabeth winced.

"Yes."

"Mm. I got a similar twist when I were a younger man workin' the sails in a storm. Not too bad. Yeh'll be alright in a couple o' days."

He held her hand in his own so the soft underside of her arm was displayed. His other thumb pressed into her wrist gently, then moved slowly up the cold flesh until he reached her inner elbow. A look of curious concentration was upon his face until he looked up at her and gave a strangely innocent smile. The sensation had been nothing short of pleasant rather than painful, though his intelligent blue eyes told her he knew that already. Still was his thumb massaging small circles into the soft skin of her elbow. It was odd - he never seemed to be one for physical contact.

"Barbossa?"

"Turner."

"What are you doing?"

"Doin' a bloody morris dance, miss. What does it look like I'm doin'?"

He pressed into her skin harder. A sudden yet pleasant warm shiver shot down Elizabeth's back, easing the firm tenseness in her muscles by a significant amount. Her breathing returned to its normal, quiet pace. After several moments, she gave a soft sigh, feeling much better than she had only minutes ago. It became clear his strange actions had been performed to calm her down. He pulled the sleeve back over her arm once her heavy breathing had ceased and heaved himself back onto two legs.

"You think they came for revenge?" Elizabeth asked.

"I know not. They may look human but they're nothin' more than bloodthirsty savages. I can't imagine 'em gettin' riled over the death o' another. Only other thing is that Calypso may have a plan brewin', though why it would involve ye and I bein' slashed to bits is beyond me."

Calypso? The goddess was free now thanks to Barbossa's strenuous efforts to gather the pieces of eight necessary to release her. What manner of revenge was this? They had done nothing but help Tia Dalma by crossing blades with the wretched EITC and travelling the most barbaric seas on the maps. Her cruel nature had caused many deaths, including Elizabeth's father's. They had done nothing to warrant the goddess's wrath. Only her gratitude. It seemed immortal beings eventually lost the ability to feel such a thing.

"Who's to say the other Pirate Lords aren't suffering the same punishment?" Elizabeth said. "Calypso was bound because a few men had mastered the seas to such an extent they could corner her. People like you. You're the only one who knows how to reach the most secret of places. You've sailed through the worst storm she could muster. No doubt the Lords have skills she'd rather the mortals were without to avoid history repeating itself."

"Ye are keen-minded, Mrs Turner. That be all we can come to for now. She should realise I en't gonna succumb until she turns up 'n does the dirty deed herself, 'n even then she'll have a fight on her hands, goddess or not. I'm sure ye will be the same. If yer theory be correct, I en't the only one out of the two of us who she wants dead."

"I don't know. Will may serve her but only so he can see me. If I died then the Dutchman would probably lose direction. The ship is strong but its course feeble - it's determined greatly by emotion, particularly those of its captain. It could very well be she sent those two creatures to attack you alone. I was just here."

"Aye," Barbossa agreed, stroking his gingery beard thoughtfully. "A good thing ye were, too. Ye forget yer own skills 'n potential, missy. Calypso would be wrong not to feel threatened by ye. Don't dare reject me words," he added when she raised a sceptical eyebrow, "yeh've grown from the bad-tempered maid I caught meself those years ago. Yer to sail under me yet."

"You want me to join you?"

"I want ye aboard me vessel, Elizabeth, whenever that may be. Come with me to Tortuga. It be also what ye want. It's in yer eyes. Just below me as first mate on the lucky ship I get me hands on. Freedom don't come cheap, missy, but now I offer it to yeh on a plate."

"Surely I should be above you, as captain," the woman smirked, his suggestion not quite hitting her. "King?"

Barbossa shot her a disgruntled look. He offered Elizabeth his hand and hoisted her to her feet.

"Rights en't the same as skill. Ye may have grown but it would be heinous to say yer in the same league as me. Challenge the matter and we'll cross swords. I believe we haven't had such an engagement as of yet. Ye may bear wit 'n courage but unfortunately yer lackin' in more practical aspects o' sailin' on rougher seas. I could sort yeh out with that if me offer be agreeable."

"I'll think about it," Elizabeth said shortly. "We'd better go home. We'll catch our deaths out here."

Barbossa laughed.

Her exploits could not last forever.

Elizabeth had not been to work for a full seven days. She had been perfectly well during that week, as had Barbossa for a small amount of it. She hadn't gone to work simply because the very concept bored her when there was something much more thrilling at home. The pirate's conversations stimulated her mind unlike routine checks on tidy vessels did. His stories and dark sense of humour were much more entertaining than making the dockmaster a cup of tea. This man, who represented all she wanted back from her old life, did his best to keep her happy out of the gratitude he felt towards her.

On the evening after the viscous attack of the mermaids, the two were recovering in Elizabeth's sitting room by a large fire she had prodded to life. Barbossa was slumped comfortably in the largest armchair, one of three, his legs spread out in front of him. Elizabeth was sat opposite him with William on her lap. She was trying to read to him from a book, though the boy kept dozing off, clearly uninterested in tales of brave kings and damsels in distress.

William's dark brown eyes eventually welded shut and he emitted light snores. His mother tried to lift him to her shoulder, though the dull pain in her injured arm flared and she hissed a swear word between her teeth. It was a nuisance being mainly one-armed. She couldn't begin to imagine how Barbossa felt.

Said pirate glanced up from his serious train of thought.

"Allow me," he grunted, before limping towards her to seize the lad under the armpits. William, for once, didn't seem to mind being in such proximity to the captain, though if he were conscious it would likely be otherwise. He was drawn to the pirate's shoulder where he nestled into it sleepily. Man and boy made off up the stairs, leaving Elizabeth to sit quietly in front of the fire. She smiled at how Barbossa managed to make her house look even smaller than it was. It wasn't so much his height, despite it being fairly impressive, but more his impenetrable aura of dominance that was cast to those around him. For some reason, the addition of a young child in his arms made that presence more profound. At least, to her it did.

There was a tentative knock on the front door. Elizabeth groaned wearily, then moved to open it.

"Good evening, Jules," she said in surprise.

The young man stood before the door greeted her with a quick wave. He was rather short and wiry, with a full head of thick, chestnut hair, which was partially hidden by a unscathed tricorn hat.

"Bonjour, madame," the Frenchman said cheerfully. "You have not appeared for many days. Or 'ave you been sneaking about the docks? Master Grey has been missing his assistant! You will be appearing tomorrow?"

Elizabeth stared at his happy smile for a moment, already nervous. Before she could think of an excuse, however, Jules' smile dropped off his young face as his eyes flickered about her person.

"You are not yourself. The, ah, the flu takes a lot from a woman, no?" he laughed nervously. "I will inform Master Grey you are infected still, then 'e will not be so foul-tempered. Sorry to 'ave disturbed you, ma-" Jules paused and slowly leant his body to look over Elizabeth's shoulder. He blinked in apparent surprise. "Miss Swan, who is that? You didn't tell of a husband!"

 _Bugger_. The woman quickly turned to look back at Barbossa, who was clumping heavily down the wooden staircase. Gods, what if Jules recognised the pirate from the poster bearing his bounty? The picture was a crude, inaccurate sketch of an ambiguous man in a large hat, but still her nerves tingled as Barbossa drew closer to her and her colleague.

"He's a friend," Elizabeth admitted with feign cheer. "He was injured at sea and is resting up here until he's better. We've been looking after each other."

"Monsieur," Jules said, nodding politely. "Well, would it be acceptable for me to 'ave a small glass of wine, Elizabeth? I must speak of urgent matters. Unless I would be disturbing you both?"

The Frenchman was given reluctant entrance to the house. Elizabeth invited him to sit by the fire (not offering the largest chair, in which Barbossa sat instead) and poured three glasses of cheap wine from an unopened bottle on the mantelpiece. She poured one with a substantially little amount - patience was not one of her strongest traits. She wanted the man, whom she had much time for, out again as quickly as possible.

"What are the urgent matters, then?"

Her fellow assistant accepted his glass and downed the liquid in a swift gulp. His small eyes darted quickly between Elizabeth and Barbossa. Already, she could sense the pirate's temper beginning to rise, though he looked perfectly calm from his comfortable slump.

"Master Grey is having a, er … rendezvous? We are all dressing nicely for drinks. Tomorrow, that is, at 'is house. We would like for you to come, Elizabeth! Everybody misses you. It is, er … 'ow you say … very formal. You must be a lady and wear a pretty dress," Jules said. He chuckled at his own snub. Elizabeth briefly glanced at her breeches and boots. There was nothing wrong with her clothes. Dresses restricted movement, particularly the fashionable ones.

"Are ye as blind as ye are stupid, boy?" Barbossa growled. "The lady be in no right condition to go out dancin' and pleasin' men with her aesthetics. "

"I can vouch for myself, Hector," Elizabeth reminded him. He shot her a sly glance before swallowing his own generous helping of wine in two gulps.

"No, your friend is correct. You stay and feel better, yes? Unless … I come back tomorrow at er … six o'clock? If you feel better I shall escort you myself, and then we dance until midnight!"

Elizabeth's chest pinged irritably. His intentions had been made clear, though she couldn't send him away with some ill-thought excuse as to not appear rude. As his hopeful eyes shone with anticipation, the woman put her glass to her lips in a pretence gesture of thinking.

"Who's to say the lady en't busy tomorrow evenin'?" Barbossa shot in snidely as she drank.

"Oh. Doing what?"

"I dunno. We were thinkin' of repaintin' me mast, weren't we, Elizabeth?" he said, looking at her with the tiniest of smirks.

She met his gaze with confusion before the filthy meaning of his words hit her, given the look on his face. A large globule of wine suddenly clogged up her airway. She coughed loudly, hitting her chest. Had he meant what she thought he'd meant? What on earth had possessed the pirate to say something so inappropriate to a stranger? And something so false to boot! He was going to impose untrue rumours upon people if he carried on in such a way. If she was accused of adultery there was no telling what the people of Dover would do to her, even if they knew nought about her husband. However, she had to admit, the innocent confusion on Jules' face was rather amusing, despite how extremely unfunny she thought Barbossa's comment was.

"Ah, you are a sailor?" Jules said with a good-natured grin. "You have a ship?"

"Aye. A bloody big one."

"Really! How big?"

"Bigger than yers, I'd say."

Jules looked confused. "I have no ship, unfortunately."

Elizabeth tried to force back the smile threatening to stretch her lips. Barbossa was truly wicked. Her poor guest had no idea what was going on, and she didn't know why the pirate had taken such a dislike upon him he felt it appropriate to make such derogatory remarks. She leant over the arm of Barbossa's chair and refilled his glass.

"Don't listen to Hector, Jules. His ship sank long ago from the inevitability of ageing. Wood does not last forever."

The pirate made a strange gurgling sound into his wine. It wasn't clear if her attempt to play at his game had angered or amused him.

"So, you are busy that evening?" Jules said, his smile growing more feign by the second. "A shame, indeed! A lovely sight would be you in a dress, dancing beneath the candles. I feel no mast is to be painted, but the other ladies were most delighted knowing there is to be a dance."

"There still be a mast," Barbossa grumbled to himself.

"Come back at six tomorrow like you said, then we can see how I feel. I'm not promising anything, Jules."

"Oui, oui," the man said idly, obviously pleased by the answer. "You will dress up no matter? Just in case? I'm sure Master Hector agrees you would look most lovely dressed up."

This man was indeed bizarre. He had been working on the docks no more than two weeks, and had barely ever crossed Elizabeth. The poorly concealed attempts at trying to earn her favour only increased her dislike towards him. What person grew so fond of another after such a short period of time?

"She does, I assure ye," Barbossa chided. Jules' smile dropped. "Ne'r seen a lady look so fine in me life. Her mind be quicker than a fox, too. No form o' treachery gets past Elizabeth. If it does then I'll kindly show it the cold steel of me blade. D'yeh hear, lad?"

Jules shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. He gave Barbossa a strange, slightly frightened look, then hurriedly stood to put his glass back on the mantlepiece.

"Thank you, madame. Most delicious. Please forgive - I must attend other matters quickly." He gave the woman a quick bow before darting to the front door. "Six o'clock tomorrow, yes? I look forward to it." Jules' shot out the front door before Elizabeth even had time to think. Slightly surprised and confused at the pirate, she turned to him questioningly. His icy glare rested upon the oaken door.

"You en't goin' anywhere with that lad," Barbossa stated firmly, gripping his glass so tightly it threatened to crack beneath his fingers. "He's dodgier than me stomach after five tankards o' port, missy. Yeh'll pretend to be sick if ye en't already tomorrow."

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth retorted, quickly removing the glass. She watched him stand to leer over her. "There's nothing dodgy at all about him. If I want to go to a party then I will, no matter if you dislike my partner. You'll look after William while I'm gone?"

The large fire crackled amidst the silence. Its ferocious yet gentle glow made Barbossa's skin appear golden in the light, and reflected in his eyes to melt the previously icy, cold appearance. He looked fierce. An angry frown was pulling his shapely lips into an uncharacteristic sneer.

"I've no doubt ye'd enjoy a break, Mrs Turner, but that lad certainly en't askin' ye to go for yer conversation."

"I wasn't aware you could read minds, captain."

"Listen to me words for a moment if ye'd be so kind. I've been around scoundrels me entire life as yeh've probably worked out, 'n he en't no better than any of 'em. Do ye doubt me word? Jus' from the way he walks I can tell he's a filthy, malicious trickster wi' the morals of a hookworm."

"Sounds like somebody I know already," Elizabeth said pointedly, not meeting that fiery gaze.

"That maybe so, but ye know I hold yeh in reverence. That boy clearly hasn't been on this land for long. A man such as him will be on the lookout for some novelty English maid to make a change to his usual appreciations. Yeh don't like him a bit, Turner, I can tell. That's why ye en't goin' anywhere he's goin'."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she exclaimed haughtily, slamming the cork back into the bottle of wine. "You're the one who suggested I should take a lover of some sort to ease my imaginary cravings you seem to think are eating me from the inside out. When a suitable young man appears you frighten him out of my own house then dare tell me what I can and cannot do? I think you should appreciate my hospitality just a little bit more and leave me to my own devices."

"I did suggest that. I didn't suggest you pick a slimy toerag who only appreciates a lady if she's in a dress that compliments her figure well. He's probably ne'r felt the touch of a woman before, let alone bedded one. A lover is someone who takes ye into the extraordinary, Elizabeth. He'd have ye then discard yeh like an oyster shell. The thing about them is there's sometimes somethin' truly beautiful inside, but some don't care enough about a shell to look, do they? I'll not have ye bein' used by that whelp. I'm sure o' his disposition. If holdin' ye here is the only way to stop ye goin' to that little ball with him then I'll willingly go against yer wishes and do it."

For some reason, despite her frustration, gratitude flooded Elizabeth's chest. Never before had he taken such an interest in her wellbeing. His oyster analogy was suddenly like a poem to her ears. Did he really think that of her?

Despite his threats, all that mattered was what he thought.

"A pearl?" she said quietly, looking into the warm fire. One of Barbossa's eyelids twitched from discomfort.

"Aye. Maybe even a black pearl, which is sayin' an awful lot. I'd be in a terrible state if not for ye, Elizabeth, probably long dead. Yer hospitality is all I have. All I can give ye in return is me protection 'n per'aps a bit o' advice here 'n there. Forgive me, but I'll be doin' nothin' less until we part ways, 'n that includes makin' sure any man ye may pick as yer companion holds the utmost respect for ye." He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.

Another warm flush of gratitude along with a mixture of other feelings. At that moment, he was Captain Barbossa again. He was steering the Black Pearl through a storm as if it were nothing. He was the raw power of the mighty oceans that attacked from all angles. No mermaids, pirates or sea goddesses would be claiming his life just yet. Not Hector. He was the cruel but brilliant tyrant that had captured her fascination for years. He was freedom itself, tempting her wickedly from her own home.

His touch was hot. It radiated through her torn shirt. His dark, powerful presence filled the entire room. Focusing on it made a lovely flare of warmth bloom within Elizabeth's abdomen, as if it had been trapped deep inside her for far too long. _Oh gods, no …_

"Bed. Yeh'll per'aps have more sense when ye wake," Barbossa rumbled, clearly taking her sudden silence for weariness. Elizabeth moved forwards towards the stairs, torn between seeing sense in his words or refuting them, despising being ordered about.


End file.
